A recruiting poster for the U.S. Tank Corps, illustrated by August William Hutaf, featured a tough-looking black cat.
In my last post, I wrote about the brave brigade of cats that patrolled New York’s Army Building for enemy vermin. Because May is Military Appreciation Month, this post is continuing the theme with a story about the mascot cat of the Tank Corps.
The Tank Corps of the American Expeditionary Forces (AEF) engaged in tank warfare on the Western Front during World War I. Captain George S. Patton was the first officer assigned to the unit. Men were recruited beginning in 1917; Brigadier General Samuel D. Rockenback, who served as chief of the Tank Corps, organized, trained, and deployed the first American tank units to Europe in 1918.
In September 1918, the New York Times reported that the Tank Corps men of New York had placed an advertisement for a black cat to serve as its mascot. The corps used a viscous-looking black cat on its recruiting posters, so the men thought it would be great to recruit a live cat that could serve as a mascot as well as an attraction at an upcoming benefit event.
The Tank Corps had a mechanical black cat atop their tank across from the New York Public Library. The tank served as a prop to recruit men to the corps during WWI.
At this time, the Tank Corps was headquartered at 19 West 44th Street. The men also had an actual tank parked across from the New York Public Library at Fifth Avenue and 42nd Street. Atop this tank was a mechanical black cat that would arch its back and swish his tail as a make-believe gun rattled away. The crowds loved it.
While the men waited for people to bring them some cats for consideration, Gustav W. Hufal, a corps member who was also an artist, drew crayon sketches of cats on a large board next to the tank. Although the men said they would pay $2 for a cat, only one young boy brought a black cat to the tank.
According to the Times reporter, the cat was so sleek and looked too well fed to serve with an organization whose motto was “Treat ‘Em Rough!” The men rejected the cat because they wanted one with “a disreputable appearance and a disposition to match his looks.” In other words, they wanted a cat that looked like the one featured on the Tank Corps posters.
Two days later, the men had found their cat. They named the “battle-scarred” black cat with “glazing eyes” Roughneck. As the feline mascot sat on the whippet turret with bared claws, 1,000 “Treat ‘Em Rough boys” marched by up Fifth Avenue on their way to a benefit show at the Century Theatre at 63rd Street and Central Park West.
According to the New-York Tribune, “the men saw the cat, recognized their own and yelled greetings.” In return, Roughneck “crouched with bristling hair and spat back at the outfit.”
Members of the Tank Corps marched up Fifth Avenue in 1918 to attend a benefit for the corps at the Century Theatre.
In February 1919, the Tank Corps League (the fund-raising organization for the Tank Corps) moved into the parlor floor of a large (40-foot wide), four-story with basement brownstone house at 253 Madison Avenue. The circa 1859 home had previously been home to James Vandenbergh Parker, a well-known clubman who had moved into the home in 1872 with his mother after his father, Charles Maverick Parker died.
The home was open to all 18,000 or more men across the country who had served with the corps. These men were able to use the club for free whenever they wanted.
The clubhouse featured games and a billiard table, plus rooms for reading, writing, and lounging. Certain nights were reserved for girlfriends or wives and dancing. There are no reports of any cats, black or otherwise, living at the club.
The Tank Corps had recruiting headquarters at 19 West 44th Street and then at 140 West 42nd Street.
The AEF Tank Corps was disbanded after the armistice on November 11, 1918. Remaining personnel transferred to the United States, but the Tank Corps of the National Army was disbanded along with the National Army shortly thereafter, in 1920.
The mansion at 253 Madison Avenue was sold to Dr. Watson L. Savage in November 1919. He made extensive renovations to the home, excavated a rear court, and extended the basement to include a pool and gymnasium. He also converted part of the home into rental units.
By the 1930s, all the homes along the east side of Madison Avenue between 38th and 39th Streets–including 253 Madison Avenue–had been torn down. Today the site is occupied by one block-long building, 261 Madison Avenue.
When this photo was taken in the 1930s, all the homes on the east side of Madison Avenue, between 38th and 39th Streets, were in the process of being demolished. New York Public Library digital collections
For many years, the land on the east side of Madison Avenue between 38th and 39th Streets served as an open-air parking lot. That was considered progress. NYPL digital collections.
General Weyler was the oldest of the brave brigade of Army cats in New York City.
General Weyler was a cat. Not just any cat, but a veteran in a troop of Army cats who served their country in the commissary storehouse in New York City’s Army Building at 39 Whitehall Street.
In Old New York, most warehouses and other large buildings in Lower Manhattan were infested with mice and rats (many still are, of course). Despite its military affiliation, the U.S. Army Building was not immune to the enemy vermin. The best soldiers cut out for the job of extermination were the Army cats.
The U.S. Army Building, 39 Whitehall Street, 1887. It is here where a brigade of Army cats served their country.
Cats were first employed by the U.S. Army shortly after the end of the Civil War. In July 1898, when this story was reported, America was involved in the short-lived Spanish-American War. During this time, many of the Army cats had names affiliated with Spain and the war.
One of the cats serving in New York City was Queen Regent (named for the queen regent of Spain, Maria Cristina De Habsburgo-Lorena), a female cat who had nine years in the army. There was also General Blanco (named for Ramón Blanco, the Captain-General of Cuba), who was described as “almost as dignified, elusive and unapproachable as her majesty.”
General Blanco was a strong and successful leader in the war on rats. One reporter wrote that “he does vastly more damage than his namesake has yet inflicted upon his enemies.”
Alfonso the Army cat was named for Alfonso XIII, King of Spain.
Another tough cookie was Alfonso (named for Alfonso XIII, King of Spain), a kitten who was just beginning to earn his stripes when he was struck by a moving truck. Alfonso was expected to survive, but he was placed on the invalid list to give him time to recover from his battlefield injuries.
“Poor littler feller,” one of the men said. “He’s in tough luck, but it’s nothing to what’ll happen to King Alfonso when he’s through running up against the United States.”
The oldest Army cat in the Army Building was General Weyler, whose namesake was Valeriano Weyler, the Governor-General of the Philippines. General Weyler was called Tom before the war, but with 15 years in the service and a “savage disposition,” the men gave him a more appropriate name when the war started.
General Weyler joined the army when New York City’s headquarters building was located at the southeast corner of Houston and Greene Streets. He moved into the new Army Building on Whitehall Street when it was constructed in 1887 on the site of the circa 1861 Produce Exchange Building.
In May 1886, the U.S. Government paid $250,000 for the old Produce Exchange Building and the land upon which it stood, bounded by Whitehall, Moore, Pearl, and Water Streets. The Department of the Army erected a new structure of red granite, sandstone, and red brick designed by Stephen D. Hatch.
Although it’s been described as a “near fortress,” the new eight-story Army Building was riddled with rats and mice that raided the provisions. Night after night, General Weyler would go into attack mode with “undaunted spirit.” As the press noted, “his enemies fell before him, leaving their corpses strewn about as mute witnesses of his prowess.”
Fresh Meat for Army Cats
In 1898, Lieutenant Colonel Charles Albert Woodruff, who served as the Assistant Commissary General of Subsistence, advertised that the Commissary Department of the United States Army was seeking sealed bids for fresh beef. The beef would not be for the soldiers on the frontlines, but for the rat- and mouse-killing brigade stationed in the commissary storehouse.
The advertisement stated that the beef was to be “fresh and sound, suitable for feeding cats, bone to be excluded, to be delivered at the contractor’s place of business on such days as may be designated and in such quantities, not exceeding seven pounds per week, as may be required by him.”
Like the cat’s meat men who delivered meat to warehouses and other buildings that “employed” a feline staff of rat catchers, contractors supplied meat to the U.S. Army for its cats.
As a reporter for the New York Press noted:
The army cats are more particular about their food than even the new recruit. They won’t eat hardtack; it is useless to try to force pork and beans upon them; coffee is not in their line, and they don’t hanker after a canteen. They don’t tire of beef, if it is good, but they are extremely fastidious, and any contractor who tries to work off an inferior quality of meat upon them will find himself in trouble.
The Army cats received their meat ration every evening, just before the men left the building. The one pound of beef allotted to the Army Building each day was cut into small pieces and placed on tin plates. Sometimes the employees would also share their milk with the cats.
New York Press, July 10, 1898
According to a report in the The New York Times, the cats cost the Federal Government only five cents a day while saving the government hundreds of dollars in supplies a year (the Federal Government also had a budget to purchase meat for the post office cats). Every military commissary storehouse across the country had from one to five cats to keep the rats in check.
In 1898, General Weyler was ready to retire. The dampness of the Army Building cellar had gotten into his joints, causing rheumatism that made him too stiff to move easily. He spent much of his time laying in a sunny doorway.
With the general on the retired list and little Alfonso still recuperating, the men said they would have to get some more feline recruits. They had a family of kittens on reserve, but as the men explained, they couldn’t wait for them to grow up, so a few older cats would have to be drafted to serve their country.
The Final Years of the Army Building
On April 26,1912, a funeral cortege for General Frederick Dent Grant passed by the Army Building. Library of Congress
The day after Pearl Harbor was attacked in 1941, patriotic men flooded the Army Building to sign up for the army. But during the Vietnam War, many protests against the war took place in front of the building. In 1967, Dr. Benjamin Spock, the poet Allen Ginsberg, and 262 other people were arrested in an antiwar protest outside 39 Whitehall Street.
During the Vietnam years, young men who had been drafted received their physicals at 39 Whitehall, which was then serving as an indoctrination station. In his song “Alice’s Restaurant,” Arlo Guthrie described the Army Building as the place where you got “injected, inspected, detected, infected, neglected and selected.”
In 1968 and 1969, terrorists set off bombs at the building; however, the New York Times reported in 1972 that the damage had been minimal. That year, the Army moved from its fortress on Whitehall Street to new offices in the Federal Office Building at 201 Varick Street.
In 1978, Fraydun Manocherian purchased 39 Whitehall, with plans to renovate the building for a branch of his New York Health and Racquet Club. He originally planned to preserve the eight-story building and convert the upper floors into apartments.
Sometime around 1983, Manocherian began demolishing the building without a permit. The New York City Landmarks Preservation Commission protested, but the demolition had already caused too much damage to save the building.
The building was extended to 17 stories and the façade was covered with a glass skin. It also received a new address: 3 New York Plaza, aka 2 Water Street, 26-30 Pearl Street, and 39-41 Whitehall Street
Today the building is home to the New York Health and Racquet Club and about 100 luxury apartments.
39 Whitehall Street.
NYC Cat Museum Pop-Up:Get Your Tickets Meow!
The future NYC Cat Museum and the Museum of Interesting Things are co-hosting a pop-up event on Sunday, May 19, from 7-10 p.m. at The Loft at Prince Street, 177 Prince Street.
The event will feature cat art, cat books, cat board games, cat music, and more. Each attendee will also receive a free raffle ticket for a chance to win a cat travel pack and a signed copy of my book, The Cat Men of Gotham!
Click here for more information and to order your tickets. (Sadly, I will not be able to attend the event as I am having surgery on my foot earlier that week.)
Before I tell you this tale of a Windsor Terrace cat who did not want to leave his Brooklyn home, I want to give a shout-out to Jenny Pierson and the other founders of the Cat Museum of NYC.
Yes, New York City is going to have a cat museum! But they need help to become a nonprofit before they can get started establishing this much-anticipated museum.
The goal of the museum is to help the community of New York City’s feral cats and those who care for them through public education. From their website:
New York City is one of the cultural capitals of the world, and our goal is to create a physical institution here (as well as a virtual suite) supporting the work of cat rescuers, no-kill cat shelters, and cat nonprofit organizations. We hope to do this with the help of cat lovers from this city that we love as well as others from around the world.
This vintage cat is not Tabby, but I love the double heart markings on his chest!
Tabby didn’t start out as a butcher’s cat. He was just a common house cat who happened to live across the street from a meat market on the southwest corner of Greenwood Avenue and East Fifth Street in the Windsor Terrace neighborhood of Brooklyn. The market, called the Windsor Market, was owned and operated by a German butcher named Louis (aka Lewie) Burgmeier.
Every morning, much to the amusement of the neighborhood residents, Tabby would wait outside the market for Lewie to arrive. While the butcher fiddled with his keys to open the door, Tabby would rub against his legs and meow. Lewie would reward the cat with a few tidbits of meat.
One day in May 1902, the Flint family with whom Tabby lived moved to Dundee, a little town near Passaic, New Jersey. They loved their cat and did not want to leave him in Brooklyn. So they put him in a box with slats and placed the box in the moving van. They gave instructions to the driver to mind the box and its occupant.
As the days went by, Lewie and the other Windsor Terrace residents on Greenwood Avenue and East 5th Street began to forget about Tabby and the cat’s daily ritual. But then about three weeks after Tabby moved, they heard a familiar meow in front of the market.
There was Tabby, waiting for Lewie Burgmeier to open his butcher shop. The butcher reported the story to the Brooklyn Daily Eagle (the reporter included the dialect):
Mein gracious! How did you get here, yet? By jiminy, you doand’t swim, so how you cross bodt rivers, I don’t know. Dit you come by the ferryboat, already?
Tabby spent his mornings at Lewie Burgmeier’s butcher shop at 424 Greenwood Avenue in Windsor Terrace, pictured here in 1940. NYC Department of Records tax photos.
Everyone agreed that the cat was Tabby, but no one could figure out how the cat traveled the 26 miles from his new home in New Jersey to his old home in Brooklyn. They also disputed whether the box fell off the moving van or was kicked off by the driver. Lewie believed that Tabby simply did not like his new surroundings and so he set off on the long journey to come back to the home he loved.
“It’s goot luck to haf ein cat come to you, so they say, and dat must be right,” Lewie told the news reporter. He said he would never sell the cat or give it away, explaining, “Any cat that will come back twenty-six miles to get a breakfast is goot enough for me, und I keep him right here.”
Following Tabby’s return to Windsor Terrace, he became a celebrity in the neighborhood, especially with the children and the firemen of nearby Engine 40 on Prospect Avenue. They loved the fact that the cat had made his way back home, to a place where he was guaranteed a good meaty meal every day.
The firemen of Engine 40/Ladder 21 at 1309 Prospect Avenue loved Tabby the cat. This firehouse was built in 1895 on land owned by Anna M. Ferris, who played a big role in the development of Windsor Terrace.
According to census reports, Lewie Burgmeier–who had to support his wife, Caroline, and their seven children–had changed his career and become a photographer by 1910. Hopefully if Tabby was still alive then he was invited to live with the large family and spend the rest of his life in Windsor Terrace.
A Brief History of Windsor Terrace
Windsor Terrace is a residential neighborhood bounded (approximately) by Prospect Park West on the north, Prospect Park SW and Coney Island Avenue on the east, Caton Avenue on the south, and McDonald Avenue on the west. Greenwood Avenue, which runs between Green-Wood Cemetery and Prospect Park, was one of the later roads to be developed in Windsor Terrace.
In the late 1700s through the mid 1800s, the land including and surrounding Windsor Terrace made up the far northwestern corner of the Town of Flatbush. During this time it was farmland owned primarily by John Vanderbilt and members of the Martense family, of which there were four branches. The Lefferts were also landowners in this part of Flatbush.
Following Vanderbilt’s death, his land was divided in two and then sold in 1849 to William Bell, a real estate developer. Bell subdivided the land into 47 building lots, which sold quickly, giving the area the England-inspired name of Windsor.
Bell sold part of the land to Edward Belknap in 1851, who built four streets on which he mapped out 49 lots for future homes called “Pleasant Cottages.” The development was incorporated as the Village of Windsor Terrace.
In March 1884, all the available lots in Windsor Terrace, which then comprised the newly graded Seeley and Vanderbilt Streets, were sold at auction. The property was sold in sections of 6 to 12 lots each. Every cottage built on this land also had a stable.
The most elegant homes were on the hillside overlooking “the whole richly cultivated agricultural plains of Flatbush, with Sandy Hook and Rockaway, the waters of the lower Bay and the Atlantic in the distance.”
Within a few months, Windsor Terrace had about 100 residents and a schoolhouse, and by January 1888, there was even a local fire department at 1288 Prospect Avenue called Windsor Terrace Hose 3.
Because the land on which Tabby lived was located on the old Martense property, I’ll focus on that family.
Much of Greenwood Avenue, including the land where Lewie Burgmeier owned his butcher shop (circled in red), was not yet developed in 1890; only the northern section of Windsor Terrace had been developed at this time. The undeveloped land was owned by Mrs. Anna M. Ferris and Mrs. Jennie V. Wilbur, both descendants of the Martense family. 1890 Robinson map, NYPL Digital Collections.
No one knows for sure, but the Martense family may have owned up to 300 acres of land, including the old parade ground, the southern section off Green-Wood Cemetery, and the southern portion of Prospect Park. The first known member of the family to move to Flatbush was Adrian Reyersz, who emigrated from Amsterdam in 1640. Adrian settled in Flatbush and married Annetje (which means little Annie) Martens, daughter of Martin Roelofse Schenck of Flatlands, in 1659.
One year later, in 1660, Martin Adrianse, the son of Adrian and Annetje, was born. According to Teunis G. Bergen, the children and descendants of Martin Adrianse adopted the last name of Martense, which means son of Martin. One of these descendants was Garrett Lefferts Martense (known as Judge Martense), a farmer and justice of the peace who was at one time the largest landowner in Flatbush.
Garrett L. Martense lived in this circa 1840 house at 662-678 Flatbush Avenue, between Hawthorne and Winthrop Streets. (The home was built on the site of a much older home occupied by the Lefferts family.) His youngest daughter, Anna Marie, wife of Rev. Dr. John Mason Ferris, lived here until her death in 1905.
Here is the Martense house in 1922, just before it was torn down in 1923 and replaced with apartment buildings. NYPL Digital Collections
Judge Martense, the son of Leffert Martense and Angelica Cortelyou, was born in 1793. In 1815, he married Jane Vanderveer. The couple had six children, a few who died at a young age. Only one of their surviving children married and had children.
The Martense’s youngest child was Anna Marie, who was born in 1829 in the Lefferts’s old Dutch homestead that Judge Martense later replaced with the ornate mansion pictured above. Anna married Rev. Dr. John Mason Ferris, a minister of the Reformed Church and editor of the “Christian Intelligencer.”
Judge and Jane Martense had two grandchildren, but only one survived long enough to inherit part of the large estate: Mrs. Jane (aka Jennie) Vanderveer Martense. Jennie, the daughter of Garrett Martense and Jane Ditmas, was born in the Martense family house in 1846. Jennie’s other brother, Garrett, died when he was only 23.
Following Jennie’s marriage to Lionel A. Wilbur, a Boston oil merchant, in 1868, Judge Martense had a beautiful house built for the couple next to his house on Flatbush Avenue. (He also built a much less elaborate residence for his son on the other side of the family home.)
Lionel and Jennie Wilbur lived in this house constructed following the Civil War on Flatbush Avenue at Winthrop Street. New-York Historical Society
When this picture was taken in 1922, the Wilbur house was in the process of being destroyed to make way for apartment houses. NYPL Digital Collections
In addition to their homes on Flatbush Avenue, Anna and Jennie (who lost her husband in 1882), owned just over 18 acres of land along Greenwood Avenue (as noted in the map above). The aunt and her niece began selling off their property in 1889.
The first sale on Greenwood Avenue that I could find recorded in the newspapers took place in 1894, when Anna sold a lot at E. 5th Street and Greenwood Avenue to Mary Rooney. Perhaps this was the lot where Lewie Burgmeier and Tabby worked and lived.
Anna Ferris died of kidney problems at her home on Flatbush Avenue in 1905 at the age of 75. Jennie Wilbur died of paralysis in 1913. She left her entire estate of about $280,000 to her daughter, Anna Martense Wilbur, who died at the age of 50 in 1930. They are all buried in Green-Wood Cemetery.
If you enjoyed this story, you may like reading about Minnie, the ship cat who kept coming back.
Sheet music cover for The Cat Came Back, written by Harry S. Miller in 1893.
Tommy Tucker of Riverside Drive and Dr. Hirscher, March 1939
Tommy Tucker was just an ordinary (and perhaps ornery from the looks of this photo) tabby cat who lived in a large frame home at 1384 Riverside Drive in Washington Heights. His owner, Louise Baier, was an animal-loving woman who shared her home with Tommy and a widowed housekeeper named Katherine Schultz.
Although Ms. Baier was not employed, she did have a wealthy brother, Dr. Victor Baier, who was one time the choir master for Trinity Church. When he died in 1921, Louise inherited one half of his estate and all his jewelry and household items.
Tommy Tucker almost looks as if he’s pouting (he looks like Grumpy Cat). He made the news in dozens of newspapers across the country.
When Miss Baier died at the age of 75 on March 6, 1939, she left the bulk of her estate–estimated at about $300,000–to the ASPCA, the Ellin Prince Speyer Hospital for Animals, the New York Women’s League for Animals, and the New York Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Children. She also bequeathed $15,000 to Miss Schultz and $5,000 to her four-year-old tomcat, Tommy.
Because Tommy couldn’t take care of himself, Miss Baier assigned Dr. Henry L. Hirscher, a veterinarian who operated the Cat and Dog Hospital at 4351 Broadway, as guardian of the cat. Dr. Hischer had always attended to all of Ms. Baier’s cats at her residence (Tommy was the last cat to survive), so he was quite familiar with the grey tiger cat.
Dr. Hirscher owned the Cat and Dog Hospital on Broadway and 186th Street in Hudson Heights. Today this is the site of the Mikveh of Washington Heights. Museum of the City of New York Collections
The will also stipulated that should anything happen to Dr. Hirscher, the cat would be sent to the Ellin Prince Speyer Hospital for Animals. The income from the trust would be paid monthly to Dr. Hirscher for Tommy’s care and eventual burial costs. Upon Tommy’s death, any remaining funds would revert to the estate.
Unfortunately for Tommy and Dr. Hirscher, New York County Surrogate Court Judge James A. Delehanty did not find it appropriate for a cat to get an inheritance. The mean judge declared that the disputed trust fund was illegal and that Tommy could no longer collect on it.
According to reporter Eleanor Booth Simmons, Tommy lost his trust fund due to a technicality. According to Simmons, Miss Baier had left the $5,000 to a man named Franklin Hebberd Jr., directing that the sum be held in trust for the cat until Tommy’s death. The weak point was the fact that the trust depended on the cat to keep on living.
This photo of Broadway and 186th Street, opposite the Cat and Dog Hospital, was taken in 1923. MCNY Digital Collections
K. Courtenany Johnston, a New York lawyer who liked cats, looked into the matter, as he sympathized with people who did not want to leave their pets destitute following their deaths. He thought that establishing an annuity might be a solution, but insurance companies explained that there was not enough longevity information on animals to prepare the necessary actuarial tables. The best plan he found was to charge the estate with the support of pets.
Dr. Hirscher, who had been charging $3 a day for Tommy’s care (because he was a “hospital case”), said he would continue to care for the cat. “He’ll have the run of the house,” the vet told the press. When Ms. Simmons checked on Tommy a year later, he was sprawled across the floor as if he owned the place.
Tommy Tucker was no doubt named for the famous orchestra leader of this era.
At this time, Tommy weighed 19 pounds. He had his own room, 7×14 feet, and slept in a wicker basket. He also had full access to a yard on the property.
“Paid or not, I’ll be glad to take care of Tommy until he dies,” Dr. Hirscher told the reporter. The vet explained that Ms. Baier had always employed him for her cats and she loved Tommy and wanted the best for him.
According to Dr. Hirscher, Ms. Baier took Tommy in off the streets on a rainy night in 1935 when he was just a kitten. He had always been a sickly cat and suffered from abscesses. When Tommy got a large abscess on his nose, other vets told Dr. Hirscher to put him to sleep. He chose to operate instead, which cured the cat but left a hollow spot on his nose.
In addition, Tommy also suffered from eczema. The vet tried to get him to eat more beef by mixing it with crumbled crackers, but the cat would just eat the crackers and leave the meat. “Queer for a cat,” Dr. Hirscher said, adding he was trying to get Tommy on a good diet even though it was challenging.
Tommy Tucker with Dr. Hirscher
Tommy didn’t like dogs and he didn’t like taking his pills. Whenever he didn’t like something, he’d give out a verbal warning and then he’d pull out the claws. Hopefully he lived a happy and healthier life with the vet.
A Brief History of 1384 Riverside Drive
Louise Baier came from a family of talented German musicians. She had several siblings, including a younger brother, Julius W (also a choir singer), from whom she inherited the frame house on Riverside Drive. (Julius had purchased it from George Smith in 1917.) Louise’s other brother, Charles, was also musical; he played the organ at the church.
Louise and Charles lived together in the house at 1384 Riverside Drive in their last years of life (Charles died in 1935). Apparently several cats, in addition to Tommy, lived here also throughout the years.
Tommy Tucker lived in this two-and-a-half story frame house on Riverside Drive near West 181st Street with Miss Baier. Dr. Charles Paterno’s Castle is above the stone wall. NYPL Digital Collections, 1931
Two hundred years before Tommy Tucker temporarily inherited $5,000, the range of hills on the ridge overlooking the Muscoota (Harlem River) was a hunting place of the Weckquaesgeek tribe, whose largest village was Nipinisicken on the Spuyten Duyvil hill.
In 1673, the first road was cut through this woodland then known as Jochem Pieter’s Hill or the Long Hill, probably following an old hunting trail along the present line of Broadway (the locals called it Breakneck Hill).
Sometime around the late 1690s, a magistrate by the name of Joost Van Oblinus acquired a large tract of cleared land called the Indian Field or Great Maize Land, which extended along the new road from about 165th to 181st Street. In 1769, his grandson Johannes sold about 100 acres of this land to Blazius (Blaze) Moore, a well-known tobacco merchant who had a business at Broadway and John Street.
When the Baiers’ house was first constructed on the former lands of Blaze Moore sometime between 1913 and 1917, Washington Heights was still fairly rural. There were a few brick apartment buildings popping up here and there, but as the photo below shows, there were still many frame houses in the area and lots of empty land to develop.
This photo shows the northern section of Washington Heights (from about 182nd to the area of today’s Fort Tryon Park) in the 1920s.
Right about the time the frame house on Riverside was being constructed, a millionaire by the name of Dr. Charles V. Paterno was completing his four-story, 35-room, white marble castle just above Riverside Drive. The stone walls dwarfed the frame house, but at least it didn’t obstruct the Baiers’ view of the river.
Dr. Paterno and his brother Joseph were the sons of John Paterno (d. 1899), a prominent contractor who built numerous apartment buildings on Manhattan’s upper west side. Charles had just received his degree of doctor of medicine from Cornell University, and 18-year-old Joseph was still completing high school, when they were called upon to take over their father’s business and complete those projects he had started before his death.
Over the years, the brothers erected numerous 10- and 12-story apartment buildings in the Morningside Heights neighborhood.
In 1905 Dr. Paterno purchased seven and a half acres of land, about 125 feet above the Hudson River. He commissioned architect John C. Watson to design his new home, or should I say castle. The mansion was between today’s 181st and 185th Streets on what was then called Boulevard Lafayette (an extension of Riverside Drive) and Northern Boulevard (later called Cabrini Boulevard).
The Baier house on Riverside Drive was surrounded by brick apartment buildings before the Paterno Castle was completed in 1916. NYPL Digital Collections
Here is the the Baier home on Riverside Drive in 1936, two years before the Paterno Castle was razed.
The castle did not last long and it did not have a fairy tale ending. Dr. Paterno moved to Greenwich, Connecticut, and in 1938 he razed the castle and most of the rest of the estate to erect Castle Village, a large complex of five 12-story detached apartment houses. How boring.
1939 advertisement
The Baiers’ house on Riverside Drive, circled, next to Dr. Paterno’s castle, 1930. NYPL Digital Collections
Paterno’s Castle, 1916-1938
In 1939, Louise Baier passed away and Tommy moved out of his castle and in with Dr. Hirscher. That same year, Riviera Apartments, of which Morris Halpern was president, purchased 1384 Riverside Drive from the New York Trust Company for $37,000. Plans were filed to construct a six-story apartment house with 49 apartments and 125 rooms on the site at a cost of $125,000.
Dr. Paterno died in 1946, just eight years after he tore down his castle.
By the time Castle Village was completed on the site of Paterno’s castle, the Baiers’ house on Riverside Drive was gone.
The view of Tommy Tucker’s old hunting grounds today. Google images.
If you enjoyed this cat story, you might enjoy reading about Dunder, the Carnegie Hill cat who inherited a fortune in 1925.
Perhaps one of these NYPD police horses at Fifth Avenue and 30th Street in 1907 were Lester. NYPL Digital Collections
Every day, Lester the NYPD police horse worked with his two-legged partner on Fifth Avenue near 35th Street. And every day at 5 p.m., he would visit the Mother Goose Tea Room at 13 East 35th Street. He would stick his nose over the hedge and wait for a few lumps of sugar.
The Mother Goose Tea Room, owned by Clementine V. Lasar Studwell, was a novelty tea room that went over the top with the Mother Goose theme, starting with the display window, which featured a large shoe with windows and a door, and a statue of Mother Goose in her red dress.
The halls were decorated with Mother Goose paintings by famous illustrators of children’s stories, and all the chinaware was painted with characters such as Tom Thumb, Jack Horner, and Old King Cole. There were wooden tables and benches crafted in Dutch style, and the waitresses dressed like Dutch maids.
Every day when Lester the police horse came to visit, the waitresses would attend to him just as they would any human customer. After he received his sugar, he would nod his head in thanks and walk away.
Although the Mother Goose Tea Room was popular with children–many children’s had birthday parties there–it was also popular with young ladies who came to read their fortunes in Mrs. Studwell’s fortune-telling tea cups.
Mrs. Studwell, who was popular soprano soloist for several churches in Manhattan and Brooklyn, began the business in 1910 when she was 61 years old, after her husband, George Stuart Studwell, began losing money in his business ventures. (Incidentally, the famous architect Charles McKim made his home in the four-story building at 13 East 35th Street until he moved out in 1908).
Clementine said the tea room was quite profitable with women, who came for the tea leaves, and also with men, who came for the famous German nut bread (and probably the Dutch maid waitresses). All her customers called her Mother Goose.
Every customer who ordered tea would receive a booklet explaining how to read the tea leaves. According to Mrs. Studwell, the proper way to read tea leaves was to turn the cup over four times after finishing the tea.
Clementine Studwell specialized in helping her customers read their tea leaves at her Mother Goose Tea Room.
One the final turn, she said, you could predict your fortune at various points in your life by seeing where the tea leaves landed. If the leaves stopped on the rising sun, for example, it meant fame; if they landed on the book, that denoted wisdom; the four-leaf clover meant good luck and the crown was a sign of power.
Unfortunately for Lester the horse, the novelty tea room did not last long. By 1913 it was called Mrs. Warner’s Tea Shop, and in the 1920s it was known as the Green Parrot Team Room.
In 1923, a third-floor apartment above the tea room was the scene of an alleged torrid love affair between the wife of W.E.D. Stokes, owner of the Ansonia Hotel, and Edgar T. Wallace, a bachelor. The newspapers reported on all the lurid details of the affair, including Mrs. Stokes’ clothing choices or lack thereof.
During the divorce litigation, which lasted five years, several women who worked in the tea room testified that they would bring food up to Mr. Wallace’s bedroom, which is where they saw Mrs. Stokes.
Clementine Studwell died in July 1929 at the age of 79. She was survived by her husband and a son, George.
